Thinking...it's good for you

The Book That Wanted to Be Read

Evelyn Crane was a perfectly ordinary nineteen-year-old with a perfectly ordinary goal: to avoid reading her philosophy assignment at all costs. She had mastered the art of Not Reading. She scrolled. She scrolled some more. She reorganized her desk by height, color, and emotional vibe. She even cleaned the mystery crumbs out of her keyboard—an act her roommate later described as “a sign of the apocalypse.”

But the book—Thinking and Knowing: A Very Dense Introduction—had other plans.

One evening, as Evelyn slumped into her desk chair and prepared to scroll herself into oblivion, the book thumped open on its own.

“No,” she told it. “Not today. Maybe not ever. I need mental ease.”

The book rustled its pages in a way that could only be described as judgmental.

“Reading,” the book announced (Evelyn did not question how or why it could speak; she lacked the energy), “is good for you.”

Evelyn froze. “Are you… guilt-tripping me?”

“Not guilt-tripping. Motivating,” the book said, sounding absolutely smug. “You were once a child who inhaled stories. You used to read cereal boxes for fun.”

Evelyn winced. It was true. She still knew the ingredients of Frosted Flakes by heart.

“And now look at you,” the book continued. “Your thumbs are getting more exercise than your brain.”

“That’s rude,” Evelyn muttered.

“Accurate.”

Evelyn glared at it. “Fine. Why is reading so good for me? Convince me.”

The book perked up as though it had been waiting centuries for this question. “First,” it said, flipping open to a chapter titled How to Use Your Brain Without Breaking It, “reading stretches your mind. When you read, your neurons light up like a Christmas tree on sale. You imagine, connect ideas, make meaning. Scrolling gives you the intellectual equivalent of eating marshmallows for dinner.”

Evelyn considered this. She did like marshmallows. She did not like the idea of having a marshmallow brain.

“Second,” the book continued, “reading makes you slow down. Not in a ‘can’t keep up with your friends’ way—more like a deep-thinking, let-me-actually-process-the-world way. It’s the opposite of knee-jerk opinions. Reading is basically a spa day for your mind.”

Evelyn sighed. A spa day sounded excellent. Her brain probably needed cucumbers.

“Finally,” the book said, snapping shut dramatically, “reading gives you a longer attention span. Right now yours is shorter than a TikTok with bad Wi-Fi.”

“Ouch.”

“Again: accurate.”

Evelyn tapped the cover thoughtfully. “So… if I read you, I’ll think deeper, feel smarter, and maybe even stop doomscrolling?”

“Precisely.”

She hesitated. She inhaled. She opened the book.

The first paragraph hit her brain like a warm light turning on in a dim room—slow, steady, but real. She felt herself focus instead of flicker. She felt her mind stretch instead of shrink.

“Fine,” she said softly. “You win.”

The book didn’t speak, but she could’ve sworn it smiled.

And for the first time all week, Evelyn did something radical:

She thought.

Deeply.

And it felt good.

See? What a good little story! Unfortunately, I didn't think at all to write that. Our mutual friend, ChatGPT, wrote that in less than a minute. Ironic, isn't it? That an artificial intelligence would help me preach deep thinking while I watch Barbie Princess and the Pauper instead of writing my final paper.

Just something I was thinking about. How easy to fib it is, nowadays.